iterumrp | Arrival Mingle

Entry tags:

Arrival Mingle

Who: Everyone.
What: The Chosen return or arrival in the City.
When: July 1st.
Where: The Districts of the City.
Anything Else? Feel free to make your own arrivals, or throw an arrival starter here! The party is open to all. As a reminder, language barriers are not an issue in the Tower.

The City hadn't changed at all in its time without the chosen. If anything, The City seemed a little dusty. The Chosen would find themselves waking in their assigned homes. Even if they were returning and had other homes. They would wake in their chosen home. For the most part, anyway, a few chosen had special ways of arriving.

The assigned housing varied depending on the district they were assigned according to their sin. However, everyone had a box, a welcome package awaiting them upon waking. Inside the box was an extra invitation inviting them to the tower if they so decided to come visit upon arrival.

The city was once again bustling with life. Cars, demons, and the people of the City moving as if time had never stopped. Business as usual for the returning Chosen.

The Tower

While it was not Aiden's district, he had talked the Duchess into opening up the ballroom, and Skiffell to provide food, that just didn't seem to end. The grand ballroom was filled with many delectable dishes, and a small band of demons playing big band music in the corner.

The doors were propped open with the music drifting out to help lull the chosen who decided to attend. A handwritten poster board outside the open doors displaying 'Welcome Chosen!' with about 10 smiley faces drawn on it. While normally parties at the tower demanded fancy dress, Aiden throwing a party meant that rule would not be abided. He didn't dig out the fancy threads for anyone. This was a different kind of party, put together by the lord of Leisurebrook.

While Aiden didn't plan to reveal himself as a magistrate, he did love to mingle with people and hear their stories. So he was there. He was napping at a round table off in a corner, his messy brown hair spilled over his crossed arms as he napped as if he didn't have a care in the world.

Threaded | Flat

Maybe the messy brunette stands out for napping at a table. Or maybe he blends in with his general don't care appearance. Either way, Aiden can be found either napping at the table, leaning against a wall, or walking around with a little tray of multiple cheeses piled up.

He's not trying to put off an unwelcoming vibe. Hell, the Magistrate seems pretty chill. Even when he was trying to not stand out. Aidan had wanted to study the chosen who arrived and see if they were cool, and to try to hide who he was for as long as possible. Even if that wouldn't be long.

Devi had said she'd come to the first party they threw and she wasn't the kind of woman who lied. Even if there had been a black tie dress requirement, Devi would have ignored it in favor of her black cargo pants, big black boots paired with a purple croptop with a long sleeved black mesh overshirt and dangling upside down cross earrings.

Dressing up indicated that she cared and frankly, she didn't.

But before hassling the Magistrate, Devi perused the food, the plate in her hand constantly emptying into her mouth, one piece at a time, as she fills those empty spots back up with bits from the spread. It was an odd contrast to the hundred and twenty pounds of a rail that she was. She still had curve, but she was a slender sort of woman at 5'9 in her boots. Any person that ambles up to her will get the same general question.

"Did you try the cannolis down there? Fucking amazing. Fuck I've missed food like this."

Nine times out of ten, Lorna knows how and why she's been tossed to another time or place. There's the occasional whoopsie, though, because Shit Happens on superhero teams back home.

And now she's showing up to a party in fairly casual dress, because frankly she can barely be bothered to dress up nice for the Hellfire Galas back home. She's in a black crop top, grey skinny jeans with aesthetic holes in them, and black flat shoes. Her green hair is pulled up in a messy bun that looks less aesthetic messy and more 'I could barely find a hairtie so this is as good as you get'.

Her opening comment upon arrival, should anyone be near enough to overhear her is: "Oh, those smiley faces are creepy. Right?"

Otherwise? She mingles, she usually has a drink in hand.

Anyone here who remembers Sara (she's dressed up a little bit, even put a little curl in her naturally-straight, long blonde hair) from before they all lost a few months and have shown back (?) up here shouldn't be thrown off by the way she embodies energy, social butterfly, and a complete lack of shame and a sometimes lack of filter.

For everyone else? Buckle up. You're about to learn the Sara Lance Experience.

If you're wallflower-ing, she approaches with a smile and purpose, and greets with a: “The wall is overrated.” and pulls you into a dance. Doesn't matter if she knows you or not, this is your life now.

When she swings by the snacks table every so often, any unfamiliar faces (including faces that are familiar, but don't show any signs of recognizing her) also there get a question of: “Are you completely new here, or did we show up at different times?” It's easy to not cross paths in a place like this. Just as easy as it is to.

As the night goes on, she eventually gets tired of the routine and decides to spice things up in her own way. And, for the record, she's not even drunk. But she does find a table not being used as one to hold snacks or drinks, and not many plates or cups on it, and just hops on up on it and starts dancing there. If you're sitting at this table, expect to be encouraged to join her.

The new Saiyan in town was not used to dressing up for any party. So the Saiyan showed up in his normal gear, bloodily headband, scouter and Saiyan armor and all.

Bardock wasn’t really a party person but he’d show up for the food at least.

arrival ((feel free to use this to continue any tdm threads if you wanna))
[This isn't the first time Clint's come to somewhere new, and he knows it won't be the last. He's just never been this welcomed as a kidnapee. He can even leave the apartment, and the building! So that's weird. And beyond suspect.

He'd prefer not to paint a target on his back, though, and tries to blend in. Asks subtle questions here and there. Picks up a paper (and doesn't buy it, puts it back) to flip through the local news. Gets a feel for the landscape he's found himself in, retractable sword tucked into one jacket pocket, throwing knife so kindly gifted in his box o' goodies in another pocket. Takes in geography, street names, major landmarks, trying to place where this is, and failing spectacularly.

Things that are going to happen, several times: Clint will find the edge of the city, and go beyond it into the fog, only to find himself frustrated and confused and right back where he came from, even though he swears he never once turned around; and Clint will be making his way across rooftops around the city, getting a better vantage point of it all (and potentially getting the idea to scale the Tower at some point).]

tower
[If he's been invited to some kind of official shindig, he thinks it's a trap, and of course he's going. And he's kind of relieved that he's just in casual clothes when he shows up, because...uh...]

Seen better parties out of a suburban garage. [Unimpressed, needless to say.] Not exactly rolling out the red carpet and introducing the welcoming committee, huh?

[He will eat and drink nothing, but he'll take a drink to look like he's participating. While trying to keep an eye out for anyone who looks Important to make note of/stalk/keep tabs on later.]

While Michael had arrived in his 70's style suit, he had quickly realized this was not his earth, and not his universe. So when he saw the invite, and the hunger was starting to make him ache, he finally chose to change into an outfit waiting in the closet that fit him well enough. His long hair hanging loose, and a pair of sunglasses on to hide his red glowing eyes. The simple black suit pants, tucked into his boots and button up shirt looked fine enough, but that white shirt did no favors to his paper white skin, and long black nails.

When he arrived at the party, he stayed off by himself a few moments, at least until the pain started to get too much. On one of the tables, something caught his attention that he didn't expect. Lifting it he looked confused. Despite the name, as he shifted the bottle he could see the thickness and the ingredients simply read '100% natural human blood substitute.' No way.

What was this world? The bottle carried over to an empty table as a worker showed up with a glass and ice. Which just made Michael make a face, but, why not try. Shaking it up and pouring it over the ice. He usually hated cold blood, but this was actually better cold and tasted less raw. What the actual hell? The pain was easing as he worked on his drink. Quietly watching people, as the bottle was spirited away.

[ ooc; feel free to carry over TDM threads, or start a new one with him before or after his drink! ]

Edited 2023-07-02 19:45 (UTC)

Caleb was feeling a little bit overwhelmed in this new place. He'd never seen buildings like the ones he saw now. He was also given a device he'd never seen before and told it was a way to communicate. Not to mention he'd left his world in a bit of mess so he's worried about the people he'd left behind.

He decided to attend the party in the hopes of finding either a friend or information. He wandered the room trying to get a read on the people around him holding a glass loosely in one hand. He doesn't appear to be taking a sip from it more holding it because drinking is what people seem to be doing.

Peter is glad that the fancy dress rule isn't being enforced, because he couldn't be bothered to find anyway. He lives in jeans and 80s rock band t-shirts (today it's Rush) and doesn't see why returning to the city should be any different.

And of course, Peter being Peter, he's spending his time within sight of the food table, with a plate piled full that somehow never seems to get any emptier despite the fact that he is clearly eating from it.

Maybe he'll put the food down and dance, but it doesn't take long before he's back at the food table filling up again. "You should try one of those," he says, pointing, and at least he doesn't have a mouthful of food when he says it. He does have manners.

There are a lot of options here, and Sirius doesn't understand all of them, even having had more exposure to Muggles than most pureblood wizards. But it doesn't really matter. He's mostly enjoying having the freedom to go where he wants and do what he wants. After twelve years in a cell in Azkaban, a year on the run, and months in moldering Grimmauld Place, freedom is concept he had almost forgotten.

Plus there's food, and he's not going to turn that down.

He spends most of the evening standing along the edge of the room with a drink in hand, just watching, though he makes a few trips to the food table as well. Where he finds something just out of his reach, and he could go around the table to get it, but what he does instead is pull out his wand and make the particular item that he wants float onto his plate instead.

He's been here long enough to discover that this place isn't like home, and he doesn't have to hide what he can do. He really is free.

Jaeger has managed to get his panic out of the way early in his arrival in the city, and after a couple of days he's considerably calmer and more settled at the idea of being here. He's still got a lot of questions, probably even more than he first arrived with, but he's in a much better mindset to ask them, and to make sense of the answers.

A mingle is a good place to start. He's done this a thousand times in a professional capacity, and it's familiar ground. He's skipped the formalwear in favor of a gray turtleneck and jeans, a towering figure with the burly build of a linebacker lingering at the edges of the crowd with a watchful gray gaze. Alert, attentive, gathering details with a notably professional demeanor in spite of his relaxed choice of style.

Bodyguard, soldier, cop. Something martial shows in his straight posture and close-cut black hair, the brisk and sharp presentation of someone alert to their surroundings and ready for trouble at a moments notice. It's going to be a while before he can shed that watchfulness, before he can let himself realize that his hunters are very literally a million miles away now.

The demons entertaining the event get slow, thoughtful consideration, and Jaeger has a glass in hand that he only occasionally sips at. Here and there, there's a brief comment on the spread, on the music, on the general festivity of the welcome. Observation, and polite friendliness as he takes measure of his new fellow Chosen.

For a party without a dress code, Harley still manages to somehow be overdressed and underdressed in a red tulle ballgown that's ripped to hell and paired with a pair of sturdy combat boots. The whole outfit is still stained with ash, blood, and alien goo. It wouldn't be her first choice for first impressions, but it's kind of her only option at the moment and well. No one can say it isn't a lewk.

She splits her time between the extravagant buffet and the dance floor, stuffing her face because she doesn't know when her next meal will be, and dancing her heart out because she doesn't know the next time she'll get to do that either. The music isn't really her thing, so she's dancing out of time with it, moving to the music in her head instead. She's always been a "beat of her own drum" kinda gal.

Erik steps into the party and glances around. Mostly, he's interested in knowing who else is back. He's never loved a party.

He moves through the crowd, clocking familiar faces, noting them, waiting to see if they recognize him....

Anakin was curious to see if anyone was here that he remembered. Or, in the alternative, he was here to meet new people. He spent an equal amount of time at the tables grabbing food as he did in the crowd as he did along the periphery. Just all over the place.

And even if he didn’t want to mill amongst people as he was driven to do, the food was unbelievably delicious. He couldn’t remember the last time he had food this good.

Should he be trusting the host as much as he did? No. Probably not. But, “I don’t even know what this is,” it was some kind of stuffed mushroom. “But it is fantastic.”

Regulus was here solely for the food. Interaction with others was incidental.

There were many things that he was good at that might surprise others, such as how knowledgeable he was at taking care of his clothing. He knew all the right spells to keep his clothes looking clean, neat, pressed, and well maintained. He could fix just about tear or damage, he could remove just about any kind of stain.

He knew nothing about how to prepare food.

House elves cooked and clean the house, but could never touch human clothes.

Regulus piled his plate with food – all kinds, appetizers, mains, sides, desserts – he didn’t care what was touching. And when the plate was full, he took out his wand, performed a preservation spell and then magically vanished the plate. He was actually sending it back to his room.

And then he grabbed another plate.

He figured he could get at least a week or two’s worth of meals this way, maybe enough time for him to figure something else out for food.

He did pause, occasionally, to actually eat some of the food. He was hungry and it was fantastically delicious.

But he’d continue with his plate piling and vanishing until someone interrupted him.

Threaded | Flat

NPC - Aiden Knight - OTA

Devi D \ OTA

Lorna Dane — open

Sara Lance — OPEN